The Giving Season

by Rebecca Brock

  “Charlie Wilks was obviously a saint among men, then,” Michael finally said after a few moments of silence.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about good old lover-boy Charlie.” Michael’s voice remained flat, expressionless, impossible for Jessy to read. “He must have been some swell guy to have put up with you all that time you dated. I just wonder how he could stand being with you.”

  Pain flashed in Jessy’s eyes, but she said nothing. Michael wouldn’t let her look away from him, his gaze penetrating, angrier than she’d ever seen.

  “I mean, never mind the fact that you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen,” Michael continued. “Or the fact that you have a wonderful sense of humor. And never mind the fact that any half-way intelligent man should get down on his knees and thank God if you decided to fall in love with him. Never mind any of that. Apparently Charlie, despite being a total idiot, could see beyond your weight to all those other things, so I guess that makes him pretty much a prince among the rest of us jerks, right?”

  Jessy stared at him for a few long moments, afraid to speak, afraid to say the wrong thing, afraid to believe what he said could be true.

  “If we hadn’t met on the bus,” she finally said, slipping her hands away from his, “if you had just seen me on the street, you wouldn’t have given me a second look.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” Jessy smiled sadly. “I do.”

  Michael fell silent for a few moments, studying the half-eaten orange in his hand. “When I was a kid in high school,” he said softly, “I weighed about ninety pounds, and twenty pounds of that was pimples. I wanted to play football more than anything, but the coach wouldn’t even let me on the field. Girls ignored me because I was too skinny, too weird. I wore head-gear braces until the day of graduation, and I didn’t have my first real date with a girl until my second year of college—Ann.”

  He looked up to Jessy again, arching an eyebrow. “So you tell me. Would you have dated me in high school?”

  Jessy didn’t answer. His point had been made.

  Michael gazed at her for a few moments, his eyes remaining solemn. “The woman that you are now,” he said softly, “is the woman that I’m in love with. That’s all that matters.”

  The enormity of his words stunned her into silence. She could not speak, could not react, could not even breathe.

  Michael reached out to touch her cheek, skimming the line of her cheekbone with his thumb, cradling her face in his hand. The gentleness of his touch, his gaze, was suddenly too much for her to bear. All her life, she had hoped, dreamed, that one day someone would say something like that to her. How many years had she wished that someone would love her for who she was and not how she looked?

  It all seemed unreal. For a moment, she actually thought she was asleep and dreaming.

  “I love you, Jessy,” Michael whispered, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment as he slowly smiled. “I love you for all kinds of reasons, and I’d be lying if I said that the way you look isn’t one of them. But it’s not the only one—and I couldn’t even begin to tell you all of the others.”

  Jessy could not speak, could not find the words that would tell Michael how much his acceptance meant to her. She couldn’t explain to him how she felt finally free, finally whole. She had always been so afraid that she might never be allowed to love anyone the way that she wanted, that she would grow old and bitter and lonely and alone. Until she met Michael, she had been well on her way to that future.

  But not anymore. Miraculously enough—not anymore.

  “I love you,” she managed to whisper, tears burning her eyes, blurring her vision. “I love you so much—”

  Smiling faintly, Michael kissed away her tears, brushing his lips against hers, trailing a line of soft kisses over the curve of her cheekbone as he gathered her close in his arms. Jessy’s eyes closed as he held her tightly, her tenuous control slipping away as she felt that unfamiliar desire growing within her once again. But now it was different. Now she knew that he wanted her for her, for her heart and soul.

  And knowing that made all the difference.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Pulling away from his embrace, she touched his cheek in wonder, flattening her palm against the faint scratchiness of his stubbled skin. She saw her own desire mirrored in his expression and urged his mouth back to hers once more, kissing slowly, almost lazily. She felt his fingertips against her throat, lightly stroking the throb of her pulse before his hand shaped itself to the curve of her neck. He made a soft sound of need, a low growl that Jessy felt against her lips like a sigh, his breath hot and sweet and tasting faintly of oranges.

  His mouth continued its slow, deliberate teasing. Knowing that he was aware of her pleasure, that he kept watching her as she kissed him, made her impatient for more. His hand slid up the curve of her throat, his touch so gentle, so careful, that she felt as though she were some fragile treasure in his hands. She could not look away from his eyes, could not look away from the desire she saw in his gaze. The intensity of her own desire frightened her. As his mouth and eyes teased her, she felt the desire, the pure animal need, overwhelming her.

  Growing bolder with each stroke of his lips over hers, Jessy touched the buttons of his chambray shirt, her fingers trembling, and saw the instant change in his eyes. She realized at that moment that she had given him silent permission to go on, to end the teasing. Michael lifted his head, watching her for a few long moments, his hand cradling her cheek as his fingers tangled in her hair. The naked longing in his eyes made Jessy’s heart beat harder, made every inch of her body burn with the need to touch him. The knowledge that she could touch him, that she could give him as much pleasure as he was giving her, was a heady drug.

  She sighed, breath catching, as she trailed her fingertips over his chest. She could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric, feel the hardness of muscle beneath the taut material, the strong pounding of his heart. Michael half-lay beside her, propped up by a mound of pillows, watching her with hooded eyes as she touched him. Jessy hesitated only a moment before unbuttoning the first button of his shirt—then the second—and the third. She slipped her hand inside the wide V, tentatively touching the soft mat of springy dark hair on his chest. His breath caught for a moment, then came faster by degrees, chest rising and falling beneath her questing hand as he fought for control.

  For a moment Jessy wasn’t sure what she should do next. Michael’s reaction had startled her, and as her gaze swept over his body, she saw clearly the proof of his arousal, proof that she had felt so intimately earlier on the swing. She dragged her gaze up to his eyes again. The heat of his stare was almost frightening, almost overwhelming, and with any other man but Michael, she would have been terrified.

  But she knew that this moment, if nothing else in her life, was right. This moment. This experience. This man.

  Michael swiftly rose up on his knees beside Jessy before she could react. His movements jerky with impatience, he tugged his shirt from his jeans, unbuttoning the remaining buttons with a swipe of his hand. For a moment, Jessy could only stare up at him, transfixed by the hard, sculpted muscle of his chest, by the lightly furred flatness of his stomach. He was so perfect in her eyes, so beautiful, that for a heartbeat she felt almost too self-conscious to touch him.

  Then he extended his hand to her, urging her to her knees to join him. His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths. His eyes held steady on hers, dark and filled with hunger.

  Jessy slowly rose to her knees, so close to him that their thighs touched, their bellies brushed. So close to him that she could feel the pounding of his heartbeat against her breasts. She felt as though she had been drugged, every movement languorous, every touch a slow torture of pleasure. Michael’s arms surrounded her, pulling her closer, flattening her body against his as his head dipped down to her throat. Jessy gasped aloud at the feel of his mouth and tongue work
ing wetly over her skin, her eyes opening wider as she pressed her palms against the heat of his chest, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders. She bracketed his face with her hands and silently urged his mouth back to hers once more.

  The kiss was slow, deep, and as Michael’s lips slanted over hers, Jessy’s hands trailed over the hard curve of his shoulders to his chest, palms lightly brushing over the soft mat of hair, over the sides of his stomach to his back. His skin was the softest she had ever felt, like warm silk. Michael’s hands had drifted over her hips, sliding up beneath her breasts, cupping them gently through her blouse. The feel of his hands touching her so intimately, the knowledge that she was free to touch him as she liked, was a revelation.

  “Jessy—” Michael’s voice was a hoarse growl against her lips. He pulled his head away only slightly, as if he couldn’t bear to break the contact between them, kissing her with each word as he whispered, “I want you—”

  Jessy managed a weak nod, breaths coming in quick gasps. She gazed at him, seeing the love, the tenderness in his expression. She wasn’t sure what she was expected to do now, wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do, but she knew that there was nothing to be afraid of with Michael. She knew that with a certainty that she felt to her very core.

  “Jessy—” He trailed his open mouth along the line of her jaw, nuzzling just beneath her ear for a moment. “I want to make love to you.”

  His hands kneaded her breasts as he spoke, his words and touch sending shivers of pleasure through her body. His hips moved against hers, a faint rocking back and forth, hard against soft, that communicated his desire far more eloquently than mere words. She felt his tongue flick over her throat and knew that she would follow him anywhere, that she would do anything for him.

  She felt his hands slipping up to the top button of her blouse, felt his fingers swiftly separating the material, grazing over her skin. He lifted his mouth to hers once again, kissing her so gently that she only barely felt his lips brushing hers. Sensation overwhelmed her, taking her breath away. She was only dimly aware of her blouse opening completely, of the rush of cool air against her exposed stomach and chest. Michael’s hands skimmed over her shoulders and down her arms, sweeping the blouse away. He trailed open-mouthed kisses over her chin, down her throat, his lips moving over the line of her collarbone and onto the upper swell of her breasts.

  And that’s when the barn door slammed shut and Libby’s shout shattered the moment. “Dad! Mom’s here! She says she needs to talk to you about something!”

  Michael and Jessy jerked away from each other as if scalded, suddenly awkward. Jessy pulled together her blouse, pressing a hand against her over-heated cheeks, as Michael grabbed his shirt and leaned out of the nest.

  “Go on back to the house, darlin’. Tell your mom I’ll be right there.”

  Libby peered up at him. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Now’s not the time for twenty questions, babe. Go on back.”

  Shrugging, Libby gave the swing an idle push and scuffed her way out of the barn. Michael watched her go, waiting for the door to close before looking to Jessy again. She kept her gaze averted from his.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  Jessy shook her head, her hands trembling as she buttoned her blouse. “Nothing.”

  “Mmm-hmm. C’mere.” Michael crawled over to Jessy and gently lowered her hands from her buttons, undoing them again as Jessy gaped at him. “You’re buttoning them up all crooked,” he said as he began redoing them.

  “What are we doing?” Jessy said quietly.

  “Well, until my daughter’s impeccable timing kicked in, we were about to make love.” Michael glanced up at her and smiled. “At least, it seemed that way to me.”

  “No—I mean—what is this. With us.” Jessy closed her hands over his, stilling them at her breasts. “Did you mean what you said?”

  Michael’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m not following—”

  “When you said that you loved me—did you mean it, or were you just saying it to—”

  “To what?” Michael’s expression hardened as he slid his hands away from hers. “To get you to go to bed with me? Do you think I make a habit of bringing women up here?”

  Jessy’s cheeks blazed. She hadn’t expected him to react with such defensiveness. “I don’t know what to think.”

  Michael leaned back slightly, the anger fading from his expression as quickly as it had appeared. He reached out to Jessy, cradling her cheek in one big, warm hand. For a few moments, he didn’t speak, didn’t look away from her eyes.

  “I don’t say anything unless I mean it,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper. He met Jessy’s gaze again. “I love you, Jessy. Question it all you want. Obsess over the intonation and the context and the phrasing all you want. But in the end, it’s just that simple. I love you.”

  Before Jessy could speak, before the tears welling in her eyes had a chance to fall, Michael leaned forward and kissed her again. And with that one, gentle kiss, Jessy finally believed him.

  They walked back to the house in a pleasant silence, holding hands, nuzzling close. Everything had changed. Everything. Jessy half-suspected that if she looked in a mirror, she wouldn’t even recognize herself. She definitely didn’t feel like herself anymore. Where she had once felt empty, almost incomplete, she now felt a serene sense of calm. All she had to do was look at Michael, see the love in his eyes, and suddenly she was invincible. Bulletproof. Able to leap over tall buildings and perform minor miracles.

  Jessy smiled at herself and glanced over to Michael. Without saying a word, he seemed to understand. He grinned, pulling her closer, and she tucked her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. She could barely remember the time when she thought Michael and Ann had fit so perfectly together; now it seemed like he had been made for her and her alone.

  She held his palm to her lips and pressed a quick kiss against it, her breath warm against his cold skin.

  “What’s that for?” Michael asked, smiling.

  Jessy grinned and gazed up at him. “I need a reason?”

  They rounded the corner of the house and saw Ann’s car, parked haphazardly behind Michael’s Bronco. Jessy felt her good spirits fading.

  “Are you okay?” Michael asked, noticing her sudden somberness.

  Jessy nodded, forcing the smile back to her lips. “Just gearing up for round two.”

  “Well, whatever happens—” Michael bracketed Jessy’s face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers, gazing steadily into her eyes. “It’s me and you. You and me. Don’t let her get to you. Don’t let her make you doubt anything. I love you, you love me—and I sound like Barney the dinosaur so I’m going to shut up now.”

  Jessy laughed and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as he stroked her hair and kissed her temple. “It’ll be okay, honey. I promise.”

  “I know,” Jessy whispered, voice muffled against his throat. As long as he held her that way, she knew everything really would be okay.

  “Sooner we go in, the sooner it’s done,” Michael said, forcing lightness into his voice as Jessy looked up at him again. “After all— I think we have some unfinished business to attend to later, don’t you?”

  The memory of what they’d shared in the barn sent a thrill through Jessy’s body. And just imagining what else they could do—

  “Yes, I do,” she said and smiled. “Let’s get this over with.”

  If Lyssa’s smile had been any more brittle, her face would have shattered. She met Jessy and Michael at the front door, composed and gracious, but with a look in her eyes that betrayed her true feelings.

  Jessy’s first thought was that Ann had come for the children. She had made good on her threat and had come to take the kids away.

  “Lyssa?” Jessy reached out to her, taking her hand. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just fine.” Lyssa’s plea
sant tone had an undertone of rage that chilled Jessy to the bone. Lyssa looked at Michael, the smile finally fading. “Ann’s here.”

  “What does she want?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me. But she brought a lawyer.”

  A sudden, sickening sense of foreboding slammed into Jessy. Helpless to control her fear, she followed Lyssa and Michael into the living room. Ann sat perfectly composed on the couch, sipping at a mug of coffee, smiling tightly when Michael entered the room.

  “What is this, Ann?” Michael glanced at the man sitting beside her and grimaced. He wore an expensive suit that cost more than the farm’s tractor and looked utterly emotionless. “You brought a lawyer into it?”

  >

  “What have you done?” Jessy whispered.

  “This is ridiculous, Ann.” Michael’s voice was tight with barely restrained anger.

  “Is it? You’ve brought a stranger into the house with my children. I don’t want them exposed to your sexual relationship—“

  “She’s sleeping in the guest bedroom!”

  “And I guess that’s exactly what you want everyone to think.” She looked him up and down, smirking. “Care to explain why you’ve both got straw in your hair and your shirt’s buttoned wrong?”

  Jessy felt her face go crimson. “Nothing happened, Ann.”

  “Right.” She turned to Jameson, suddenly pained. “She was with my children last week, shopping, and she told them to call her ‘Mommy.’ She told them that their real mommy didn’t love them anymore and that I hated them!”

  Jessy gasped. “That’s a lie.”

  “Michael, did she tell you about her aunt?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She used to hurt her aunt,” Ann said, ignoring Jessy as she spoke directly to Michael. “I did some digging into her background. Her aunt was taken from her and put into a nursing home, where she died.”

  “What?” Jessy suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She saw nothing in Ann’s expression but pure malice. “No! My aunt had pancreatic cancer. She was in too much pain to stay at home. I had to put her in a nursing home so they could manage her medicine—”